


Cicero's Ephemera

by ChippyChop



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Childhood Memories, Cicero Being Cicero (Elder Scrolls), Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Gen, Mother/Daughter relationship, Trauma, hurt comfort, hurt/comfort between Cicero and the Listener, so much Cicero/Listener
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24871126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChippyChop/pseuds/ChippyChop
Summary: Long after the World Eater has been defeated, The Dragonborn, Hypatia, has gone missing. Cicero will do anything in his power to find her, including asking the help of her estranged daughter, Dagny. As Dagny travels around Nirn with Cicero, she learns more and more about the unconventional relationship the jester had with her mother, and must eventually come to terms with a dark family secret.
Relationships: Cicero/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero/Female Listener (Elder Scrolls), Cicero/Listener (Elder Scrolls)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. Cicero Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cicero Knocks.

Cicero was the last person Dagny expected to find hammering against her front door in High Rock. He had come all the way from Skyrim.

“Do you hear that?” she hissed, seizing the arm of her husband, Endon, who was blinking groggily beside her.  
  
Endon yawned. “Sounds like the front door…”  
  
There was a sudden thud, followed by a series of frantic banging. “By the fucking nine, it’s well past midnight.” Dagny gave a heavy moan, flinging the blankets across the bed in an irritated jump to her feet.  
  
Endon forced himself to blink, reluctantly peeling the blanket from his body. As Dagny threw open a dresser drawer, he moved to peer out the window. It was difficult to see through the black, but there was definitely someone at the door. He could make out a small cart and a black horse beside the porch, a silhouetted figure, a man by the looks of it, was pounding a fist against the front door.  
  
“I can’t tell who it is,” he mumbled.  
  
“Well, put some clothes on,” Dagny urged. “You can’t expect me to answer it alone at this time of night!” A pair of felt pants flew across the room, hitting the naked Endon square in the face. He fumbled around, sleepily trying to find the leg holes.  
  
“I swear to the gods, if it’s that guard again…” Dagny slipped on a pair of house-shoes, drawing an impatient breath. “I’m sick of them trying to find any excuse to put you out of business.”

Endon fastened his pants with a string. “You really think they’d come this late?”

Dagny raised her shoulders, she didn’t know who else it could possibly be. The knocking was impetuous, almost dangerous. Dagny grabbed her dagger and followed Endon into the front room. A muffled muttering could be heard from the other side of the door and there was something eerily familiar about the cadence in the visitor’s voice. Endon cast a flame in his right hand, readying his stance, while Dagny braced behind a bench a few feet away; knuckles white around the hilt of her dagger.  
  
“Who’s there?” Endon called to the man.  
  
A muffled voice responded, “Heh, Cicero, Fool of Hearts, at your service! Pardon the late intrusion. Is there by chance a woman named Dagny here?”

Dagny went white. Cicero... Cicero? Had she misheard?  
  
“I don’t know anybody by the name Cicero,” Endon said. “What’s your business here?”  
  
Dagny stumbled around the bench, grabbing the arm for balance. “Open the door,” she gasped, and Endon shot her a confused look. “I… I think I recognize the name.”  
  
Her husband unlocked the door, cautioning the visitor with a warning. When Dagny saw the man waiting on the other side of the door, she lost her jaw on the floor. Endon blinked, probably doubting his own senses, because standing at the door was the strangest looking man he’d ever seen—an elderly jester, all turned out in fading red motely and a worn fool’s cap. He peered anxiously into the house.  
  
It was only a split second of confusion, and then Endon gathered his bearings. “By the gods! Do you know the time?” he demanded.  
  
Dagny was very conscience of her blade, she kept it firm in her palm, and stumbled forward in complete disbelief. “Cicero?”  
  
It was evident that they knew each other, for the jester let out a squeal of delight, pushing his way past Endon, who stumbled backward a bit bewildered.  
  
“Ooh! Thank Sithis,” he exclaimed. “Cicero has found you, at long last!”  
  
Endon was ready to shove the fool back out the door, annoyed at the intrusive way he was invading their living room. He held himself back when he saw the way his wife moved hurriedly to greet their guest. Was this bizarre looking man an old friend?  
  
“You—you know each other…?” he watched in a daze as the stranger waved a wild arm, eyes darting frantically around the room.  
  
“Oh, Dagny! It’s terrible. Terrible!” he shuddered.  
  
“Cicero, what in oblivion are you doing here?” Dagny gasped. “Come inside. Come sit down. I’ll—I’ll make some tea. By the nine.… What are you doing here? How did you find this place?”  
  
“No! No, I have no time for tea. There’s no time to talk,” he jumped forward, visibly panicked. “I’ll get to the point. There’s no time to lose. Your mother! Oh, you’re poor, precious mother. She is missing! I- I can’t find her anywhere. Cicero has searched, and searched, but she is simply… gone.” He grabbed her shoulders suddenly, obliging her to listen. “Cicero has come here hoping—oh, praying that the Listener is somewhere here? Or Dagny perhaps knows anything of where she is?”  
  
Endon (who understandably had no reason to trust this panicky stranger) was immediately alarmed at the aggressive way he seized his wife. “Hey!” he leapt forward and pulled the strange man backwards. “Get your hands off of her! Who are you?"  
  
Cicero submitted to Endon’s wrench, he gave a meek smile, bowing his head apologetically. “Oh! My apologies. No need to worry. Cicero is not here to cause harm! Not at all. He is a friend,” he glanced back to Dagny, but kept a respectful distance. “The Listener has disappeared,” he explained, a gloved hand pressed against his forehead. “Thoughtless, stupid Cicero has failed in his responsibilities as Keeper! Protect the Listener? No, I’ve lost the Listener!”  
  
Dagny stood dumbfounded before him. Cicero always spoke with a certain hysteria, but it had been a while since Dagny had heard his frantic voice. It brought a familiar exasperation to the forefront of her mind. As if reencountering a problem she long since thought _dealt with_.  
  
“Endon, this is… this is Cicero,” she explained. “He was my mother’s… uh friend.”  
  
She felt a bit disoriented. To see Cicero standing before her, when she certainly thought they would never meet again… well, it was a bit perplexing, as if walking through a dream.  
  
“Uh… your mother?” Endon asked tentatively. He was well aware of Dagny’s strained relationship with Hypatia, and it was Endon’s own policy to never discuss that woman unless Dagny herself brought her up. As a result, he knew practically nothing about Dagny’s life before they’d met—certainly nothing about an eccentric jester for a family friend.  
  
“Yeah, my mother…” she mumbled and turned her attention to the uninvited guest. “Uh, Cicero, listen. Calm down, okay? Have a seat and we’ll… uh, talk about what’s going on.” Dagny gestured to the kitchen.  
  
“Dagny, there’s really no time to lose. Your mother is gone, and I’m afraid something awful has happened. You’ve got to help me,” he pleaded.  
  
Dagny blinked, processing the situation. This had to be a dream, she laughed. Surely any minute her eyes would open. and she would wake snug beneath blankets—no jester, no mother, nothing but the obnoxious snores of Endon beside her.  
  
She clenched her eyes shut, anticipating the inevitable rise from sleep, but when it didn’t come, Dagny felt a nervous laugh bubble its way out of her throat. Was this some kind of joke? She lifted an eyelid; an anxious Cicero was gawking, open mouthed and crazy-eyed, in front of her.  
  
“HELLOOOO?!” he yelled, arms flying in a frenzied sort of twitch. “Did you not hear me? The Listener, your mother, is missing! Don’t you care at all?”  
  
Dagny stepped back defensively. While Cicero probably wasn’t going to hit her, she’d witnessed him handle Hypatia roughly, and it was usually at times like this: when he was fretting with agitation.  
  
“Cicero, please,” she scolded, and Endon came up behind her rather protectively. He watched Cicero with a concerned frown, unaware of his violent tendencies, but suspicious of the brash way he was raving about.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Cicero is… anxious. Please, just tell me your mother has stopped by? That she’s perhaps…. here now?” He bit his lip, eyes darting desperately around the room. Was it some elaborate prank? Was Hypatia hiding behind a bench, holding her breathe and trying not to laugh?  
  
“No, I’m sorry. She’s not here. She’s… never been here.”  
  
In fact, Dagny was beginning to wonder how exactly Cicero had found her. As far as she knew, nobody back home knew which province she was in, let alone her home address. Her mother certainly didn’t know, and neither she nor Cicero had ever stepped foot in Dagny’s little house. “Cicero, what’s going on? Is everyone okay?”  
  
“Everyone is certainly NOT okay!” he wept. “Your poor mother! I- I have no idea where she is.”  
  
“What about the others? Tor? Alissei? Are they all right?” Dagny’s siblings came to mind, immediately. Although it had been nearly five years since they’d spoke, Dagny still cared about their wellbeing. If Hypatia was missing, it could potentially mean the entire family was in danger.  
  
“As far as I know they’re both fine,” Cicero pressed a gloved hand against his forehead. “Though…. it has been a few months since we’ve had word from Tor. Alissei still refuses to speak with us…” he gave an anxious gasp, biting his lip to stifle the noise. “Dagny, I don’t want to imagine it…”  
  
“Do you think something happened to them?”  
  
“Oh no…” he muttered. “Oh, Dagny, what a fool, what an idiot I’ve been. Cicero has lost the Listener, and now her precious children. Something awful has happened! Something horrible! Oh, I’ve failed! Cicero has failed!” He let a horrible shriek fill the room, clutching his own heart in guilt.  
  
“Calm down, please!” Dagny begged, becoming a bit annoyed despite herself. Cicero, after all, tended to blow things out of proportion, and Dagny wasn’t sure how seriously to take him right now. “Did you come here all the way from the manor? You’ve gotta be exhausted. Are you hungry? There’s nothing we can do until you explain just what in Oblivion is going on.”  
  
Maybe he would calm down enough to give her the whole story, then she could assess appropriate actions. Cicero took a breath, no doubt forcing his emotions down.  
  
“Dagny is sure her mother isn’t here?” he asked again. If he questioned her enough, Hypatia might spring out from between the floorboards or dive in through a window, laughing stupidly like some joke.  
  
“She’s not here. I’m sure,” Dagny said sternly, and the house did not move. Her mother did not materialize. “Are you… um, are you hungry?”

Cicero gave a sigh, grabbing his stomach. “Cicero supposes he is a bit peckish. May I sit?”  
  
Dagny pointed through the archway that led to the kitchen, and Cicero dragged himself to the table. “Oh, your mother, your mother, your poor mother…. I pray she’s okay,” he mumbled.

Endon waited until Cicero was out of earshot (but still in sight) and quickly pulled his wife aside.  
  
“Who the fuck is this guy?” he demanded, brow creased in concern. “I’m certain you’ve never mentioned anyone like… _that_. Is he always this frazzled?”  
  
“Oh, gods. He was my mother’s friend. Around a lot when I was a child, and he lived with us for a while. But, he’s… uh, a bit mad, I suppose. I wonder how he found me here?”  
  
Endon held up his hands, baffled. “The Dragonborn is missing?”  
  
“I don’t what he’s on about… I’ve no idea. But, he’s not always in the right state of mind, so it’s hard to know what to take seriously. Just be careful if you say anything to him.”  
  
“Be careful? What do you mean? Is he violent?” Endon whispered, eyeing Cicero anxiously.  
  
“I hope not tonight. But, don’t make sudden movements… Ehh, slight things can set him off. He’s kind of unpredictable,” she muttered, her tone brought Endon no comfort. He nodded, eyebrows creased.  
  
“Uh, I’ll follow your lead,” he said.  
  
Dagny gave an apprehensive sigh and headed into the kitchen. Cicero had already taken a seat at the table. Since it was the middle of the night, the room was fairly dark. However, a large beam of silver moonlight came in through the window, shining directly on Cicero’s face.  
  
Dagny hadn’t been able to see him clearly before, but now she could see Cicero looked… well, old. His eyes looked watery, the undersides were shaped by saggy skin and dark circles. His once red hair was greying and seemed to be falling out. Was he slightly thinner than Dagny remembered, or was it just an illusion considering how frail he seemed to be?  
  
It had only been… what? Five years since she’d seen him, but Cicero looked exhausted, as if he’d aged a decade and a half.  
  
“Dagny, you have to help me!” he begged, and she took a seat beside him at the table. Endon cast a small flame and lit the kitchen scones, bringing much-needed brightness. Something about a well-lit room tended to ease anxiety.  
  
“What exactly happened?” Dagny asked. “Hypatia is missing?”  
  
Cicero looked as though he would burst into tears at any moment.  
  
“Yes!” he blubbered. “She must have left in the middle of the night! Maybe in the morning? When poor Cicero awoke, the Listener was gone! There was no goodbye, no note, no horses missing, no trace of her at all… nothing! I fear the worst…”  
  
Endon kept a wary eye on Cicero as he lit a small flame on the stove, placing down a teapot. If what his wife said was true, then he needed to be on high alert tonight. A stranger arriving at three in the morning was already daunting, especially one who happened to be a bit… well, unpredictable, as his wife had said.  
  
“She didn’t say anything about leaving?” Dagny asked him. “Are you certain you can’t remember?”  
  
“I… well,” he gave a thoughtful scrunch of the face. “Ehh…. No! Not at all! I would have remembered something like that. Surely, I would have! She’s just gone. With nothing, as I said, not even a note… Oh, Dagny. Something terrible has happened… I fear somebody kidnapped her off the side of the road.”  
  
“How long has it been since she went missing?” Endon unexpectedly asked from the other side of the kitchen. “Also, uh, Mr. Cicero, what flavor of tea would you like?”  
  
Suddenly, Cicero looked up at the Redguard as if he were seeing him for the first time. At first, the expression struck a chord of fear in Endon’s heart, for he remembered the warning his wife had given him. Dagny, too, was afraid Cicero would spring forward and attack, being as unpredictable as he was.  
  
But, Cicero merely gave a shocked gasp, and then promptly erupted in a fit of laughter.  
  
“Oh ho ho!” he sniggered. “Dagny, how rude of me! In my haste, I’ve forgotten completely about your… er?”  
  
“Husband,” Dagny said. Cicero’s jaw dropped, and he slapped himself, hooting even louder than before.  
  
“Your husband!” he gave her a sly, excited smile and cackled. “Why, Dagny, you funny woman. You’ve gone off and gotten hitched!”  
  
Cicero beamed congratulations, flashing the couple a toothy smile. He couldn’t keep himself from erupting in joyous laughter. Endon glanced a bit awkwardly toward his wife, chuckling nervously.  
  
“Oh, and he’s so polite! ‘Mr. Cicero, what flavor of tea would you like?’ How delightful you seem. Cicero adores meeting new people! Yes, certainly, we’ll get along well. What is your name, Dagny’s husband?”  
  
Endon looked uncertainly from his wife to the jester and then back again to his wife. Somehow in all that hubbub, he’d forgotten his own name. Cicero leaned forward eagerly, a large and enthusiastic smile stretched across his face. Dagny gave a few perplexed blinks beside him, as though she still couldn’t believe this was happening.  
  
“My name’s Endon,” he said after what felt like way too long of a pause. Cicero clapped his hands and cackled.  
  
“Ooh! Endon! What an honor it is to meet you! Married to Dagny, hmm? Her mother would be so proud! Such a handsome gentleman. So personable and charming. Oh, welcome to the family, Dagny’s husband, Endon!” He held back his laughter, snorting into his hand. It was as though he’d never heard anything funnier.  
  
Endon put an awkward hand on the back of his head and laughed nervously. The flattery was somewhat unsettling. “So, uh… what flavor tea would you like? Do you want anything to eat?”  
  
“Oh yes, back to the more important business of food and drink,” he laughed. “Cicero does hopes you’re brewing lavender tea? As for food—anything I’m too hungry and too grateful to make demands.”  
  
Endon nodded. “Uh, we have some lavender in the counter.” He made his way over to the cabinet and rummaged through a few jars.  
  
“We’re something of tea connoisseurs,” Dagny joked awkwardly. Cicero nodded, as Endon dropped a plate of bread and cheese on the table before them.

“Hmm… Is that so?” he muttered, grabbing for the bread.  
  
“Well, uh Endon’s always been a big tea drinker… I guess I just… I don’t know. I started drinking it a lot after we met...” Dagny awkwardly trailed off and Cicero nodded thoughtfully as though it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard.  
  
Dagny forced a smile. This was just so… bizarre. She hadn’t seen or heard from her family in more than five years. Now suddenly, she was casually talking with Cicero about the mundane details of her tea addiction. She glanced at her husband. He didn’t look any less confused than she felt. He gathered the lavender and a few other herbs into a small pouch, tossing it gently into the heated water.  
  
“Dagny, your dear mother would be so pleased to know you’ve married.”  
  
She rather doubted it…  
  
“After all,” Cicero said. “She had a wonderful time at your brother, Tor’s ceremony,” Cicero sighed nostalgically as if he were recalling a wonderful memory.  
  
“So, Tor finally married as well.” Dagny rubbed her forehead. It was strange how life kept going on, whether you were there to see it or not.  
  
“Yes,” said Cicero. “And it was a splendid wedding! Fireworks, food, wine! We were all there. Well, most of us,” he sighed, and Dagny fidgeted in her seat.  
  
“Well, you know…” she muttered. “We’ve been busy.” She let her eyes wander back to her husband, not able to meet Cicero’s gaze.  
  
Cicero must have sensed the offense.  
  
“Oh! Dagny, no! I didn’t mean you! Cicero understands why you couldn’t be there. You left for… well, you left for valid reasons. No, I meant your sister, Alissei. Who, Cicero supposes missed out for equally valid reasons…” he shrugged.  
  
“But, there’s no need to dig that nonsense up tonight,” he continued. “No, no, no, no. Cicero hasn’t come to lecture the Listener’s daughter on long dead family drivel, however unresolved it may be. No. Poor Cicero has come to beg help of Dagny. I am… just so afraid something awful has happened to your mother. I’m afraid she may be in danger. If you could come with me to Skyrim, help me solve this case!”  
  
“Come with you to Skyrim?” Endon asked, looking completely shocked.  
  
Dagny sighed. Even after all these years, the memory of her mother would not leave her alone. Her ghost was dining with them at the table, in the form of Cicero. Hypatia had gotten herself tangled up in Talos knew what and Dagny was here having to deal with the aftermath. It was typical. Dagny felt she had been cleaning up her mother and Cicero’s messes her whole life.  
  
Now, she had a broken hearted jester at her dining table, intent on burning down the world in order to find her mother. Dagny was not so sure she had it in herself to turn Cicero away. It certainly wasn’t because she cared about, or desired to find her mother. No, absolutely not. If anything, it was because she felt a bit of debt to Cicero. Although, he had undoubtedly always been annoying, loud, and offensive—she truthfully held no resentment toward him. In fact, it was really on account of Cicero that her childhood had been at all bearable, and now that he was all sad and strengthless in front of her, she couldn’t help but let her sympathy get the better of her.  
  
Dagny recalled being spooked awake many nights as a kid, dreaming childish nightmares of ghosts or monsters. It had never been her mother that comforted her—no, Hypatia had dismissed the scared, little girl with a wave of her hand. Dagny was told to toughen up and go back to bed.  
  
It had been Cicero who consoled her with stuffed animals and comforting words. Cicero who played games with her and stayed awake by her bedside, clutching a knife to protect her from imaginary ‘monsters’. Dagny would never forget that. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t go as far as to say she was indebted to him, but in a strange way she was rather thankful for him.

She sighed. Somehow, feeling as if she owed it to Cicero to help him now.  
  
“Listen,” she began slowly. “I’m not promising anything.”  
  
Cicero’s eyes lit up. He forced himself to hold back a smile.  
  
“Obviously you can’t expect me to agree to anything without first consulting my husband,” Dagny said, and Cicero nodded dramatically.  
  
“Of course. Of course! Discuss it with your husband,” he put a hand against his mouth, clearly not wanting to appear too excited. “Though you should know,” he blurted out. “When Cicero makes a promise, he means it, and Cicero promises that when this is over he will do anything Hypatia’s daughter asks of him. Any request you have, Cicero will be your humble servant!”  
  
Dagny didn’t know what to think of this promise. “In the meantime, it’s very late. We can’t stay up all night talking.”  
  
There’s an inn just up the road,” Cicero said. “I will stay there this evening.”  
  
Maybe Dagny should have felt a bit guilty for not inviting Cicero to stay the night. However, the truth was that she simply did not trust him. She had seen more than her fair share of his “episodes” to know he just wasn’t mentally stable. He might have one triggering thought, or a violent auditory hallucination, and it would send him over the edge.

“Cicero, that’s probably for the best. We will discuss it more tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
He smiled. “Thank you for considering my odd request,” he said, scarfing down the remainder of his food and rising from the chair. Dagny rose from her seat as well and walked with the jester to the front door.  
  
Cicero let himself out and pointed toward a cart parked in front of the house. An odd, dark horse was pulling the load. It seemed rather blacker than the shadows surrounding it. Dagny instantly recognized her as Hypatia’s favorite horse—Shadowmere.  
  
“My things are all here… I didn’t bring much, because I hoped it would be a rather short trip if the Listener were here with you.”  
  
“I’m sorry she wasn’t,” said Dagny. They stood together in the summer air for what felt like longer than necessary.  
  
“… Dagny,” Cicero began. “I know you expected peace after leaving Skyrim… You’ve got a husband now, and perhaps even kids?” he asked looking hopeful.

“No, no kids,” she laughed. Cicero shrugged and gave her a soft smile.  
  
“Probably for the best, I’m sure the Listener thinks she’s too young to be a grandmother!” he snorted at his own joke. “Either way. Cicero understands if Dagny cannot accompany me back to Skyrim. You have made a life here, after all. Poor Cicero knows he’s being a bit….uh, presumptuous when he asks you to leave and help him.”  
  
Dagny looked away, staring down the road toward the distant glow of the village. How could she respond to that? He was right—she did have a life up here in High Rock, and it was a bit presumptuous to ask her to leave it, even if only for a while.  
  
“I just feel like there isn’t much I can do, even if I go with you,” she said. “Do you even have a plan?”  
  
“Yes,” he said. “To find her.” He looked so serious, as though he actually believed it would be that simple. It was a bit annoying. Too dramatic. Cicero was always one for pointless flair. But, really? Now? How could he expect her to join him with no substantial plan? Was this his way of saying he was relentless and bound to find Hypatia? Dagny wanted to roll her eyes. In her own opinion, Hypatia had done little to deserve a man so loyal and intent on finding her as this jester was.  
  
“I’ll certainly consider it,” she said, and Cicero beamed.  
  
“It is all this fool can hope for!” he laughed. “Oh, Dagny. Can you believe it’s been five years since we have all been together? You’ve grown so much in such a short amount of time. Cicero is just….” he struggled to find the words. “… proud of the Listener’s daughter. I’m sure your mother would be proud too.”  
  
Dagny doubted it, but the jester continued, “Soon, Hypatia and I will be together again, and she will be so glad to know you’re alive and well. I’m sure if we find her, she’ll be glad to see you. I’m certainly glad to have seen you,” he said.  
  
“I’m glad, too,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if it was the truth.  
  
“And to have met your husband!” Cicero called out behind her and Dagny turned to see Endon waiting a few feet away in the doorway, grinning a bit sheepishly.  
  
“Well, Cicero supposes there’s nothing to do now but wait out your deliberation and return in the afternoon. But, Dagny, your mother cannot wait for long. Please do not decide without much consideration, but Cicero begs for your haste. There’s no time to lose!” he said, eyes wide. “I admit, I feel… somewhat desperate. I’m sorry for disturbing you so late, but surely you understand it’s a matter of urgency. And now, poor Cicero is rambling, which he has a bad tendency to do when he gets anxious and needs to fill the silence. Stupid, stupid, Cicero, collect yourself!”  
  
Dagny nodded, and took a step back, but without warning Cicero pulled her into a rather awkward embrace. It was a fatherly sort of hug, full of genuine affection, but somehow, standing there, Dagny felt rather… sad.  
  
He pulled away and looked directly at her. It was like he wanted to memorize her face so when he found Hypatia he’d be able to give her an accurate description of her daughter. “Oh, what a joy it was to see you! But, now I’m afraid I must go,” He heaved himself onto the back of the carriage saying, “Cicero will return tomorrow! Don’t worry!”  
  
The horse pulled away and Cicero gave a huge, exaggerated wave as he turned toward the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a few of my main OC's have the same names as characters in Skyrim (Dagny and Endon). I chose those names before I realized there were characters in-game who share these same names. To avoid confusion: Dagny is an original character, and is not related to or the same character as the in-game character, Dagny (Jarl Balgruff's daughter). They just accidentally have the same name, and I'm too attached to change anything. Endon is also not related to the Redguard named Endon in-game who lives in Markarth. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Something Worth Keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which somebody finds Something Worth Keeping.

More than thirty years earlier, long before Cicero had knocked on the door of the Listener’s daughter, in fact, long before he had even known Hypatia was the Listener, Cicero came to Falkreath Sanctuary with his mother hidden in the back of a wagon.

Cicero had not paid much attention to Hypatia in those first few days. She had been young, nobody of importance, a member at the bottom ranks; while Cicero was an experienced assassin with an important and ancient position of authority. There was no real reason to approach Hypatia, and so he didn’t. He spent his time arguing with Astrid, in the meantime coaxing Gabriella and Festus Krex gently to his side.

However, Hypatia was curious about Cicero from the moment she spotted him. He was the strangest thing she’d ever seen, from his mannerisms to his colorful outfit. He was exotic. Where in Oblivion had he come from?

“Who is that jester?” she asked Babette. They were sitting together in the small alcove between the kitchen and the entrance. Babette was occupied with the mortar and pestle currently between her fingers, mashing some alchemic solution for a potion.

“He’s from Cheydinhal, the Sanctuary to the south, in Cyrodiil.”

“I didn’t even know we had another Sanctuary,” Hypatia raised her eyebrows.

“Oh yes… In the old days of the Brotherhood, we had many Sanctuaries, spread all across Tamriel. They’ve been lost over time, and, as far as I know, we are the only one left.”

Hypatia was shocked to hear it. “Our reach was that big?”

Babette chuckled, continuing to grind the sticky substance around in the bowl. “Hard to believe, I know! But, yes. The Dark Brotherhood used to be a very powerful organization. Regrettably, we’ve become a shadow of our former selves.”

“Then… what do you think of this Night Mother business?”

“Two hundred years prior, the Night Mother was my infallible source of wisdom. However, Astrid is the sole reason this Sanctuary still stands. She is my matron now. I beg you don’t forget the reason you’re here.”

“Oh, of course not, Babette. I am indebted to Astrid. I very well wouldn’t be alive if not for her,” Hypatia nervously answered. It was true. Hypatia had joined the Brotherhood as a last resort, and Astrid had been merciful enough to allow it. She didn’t want to give Babette the impression that her loyalty was anywhere else.

“It’s good you feel that way. I’ve spoken with that jester; Cicero I think is his name. He will try to convince you otherwise.”

“Convince me of what exactly?”

“The supremacy of the Old Ways, but don’t fall for it. Tradition has led us here: a dilapidated, decrepit organization. No, it’s better that we move forward. Astrid’s guidance has led us far, and it will lead us farther to come.”

Hypatia knew nothing of the Old Ways, but she was inclined to believe Babette. After all, the 300-year-old vampire had lived through the rise and fall of the Brotherhood. If there was anyone most fit to carry an opinion on policy—it would have been her.

For the next few days, Hypatia stayed clear of Cicero.

Though, Cicero did not try to convert her, as Babette had warned. In fact, he did not come up to her at all. It seemed he had bigger worries on his mind.

“What does he do in there?” Hypatia had asked Gabriella one afternoon. The elf peered up from a book, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption. “I mean… all locked up in there with the corpse?”

“Cicero is the Keeper. It is a highly respected and valued position within the Dark Brotherhood. He tends to her body, for if the Night Mother does not have an adequate vessel, she will not be able to speak.”

“The Night Mother will speak?” Hypatia gawked at her, dumbfounded. While, she’d heard of certain undead creatures in Skyrim, Hypatia had never imagined holding on a conversation with one of them.

“Yes, but to only one person. That is, the Listener.”

“Incredible… I had no idea. So, she speaks to Cicero? Advises him?”

“No. There is no Listener. Though, I have a suspicion she will decide on somebody soon. It would be such an honor to be chosen… whoever it is.” Gabriella smiled darkly, and Hypatia suspected the elf was hoping to be the one.

“So, you think this Night Mother business will be good for us?” she asked.

“I truly do. Cicero may be a bit… exuberant. But, he is right in respecting the Night Mother. She, after all, is the bride of Sithis, a truly great and terrifying Matron, deserving of our admiration. Without her there is no Dark Brotherhood.”

Hypatia only nodded. Perhaps, Gabriella had a point. After all, her grandmother and her grandmother’s grandmother had walked the very halls of old with assassins as famous as Lucien Lachance. If there was anyone who was more fit to have an opinion on tradition—it would have been her.

“Do you have more questions?” Gabrielle asked.

Hypatia shook her head, unable to think of anything else.

“Then allow me to return to my book… how I do enjoy a good story of romance, jealousy, and murder.”

Nazir had voiced his disgust over all manner of troubadours—jesters included. He himself kept a respectful distance from the Night Mother, seemingly unenthusiastic about her arrival.  
  
“Don’t get me wrong. The Night Mother is a valued part of our history,” he said to Hypatia one night before dinner. “But, I cannot pretend I’m crazy about the corpses of undying, old women.”

Hypatia could respect that. If anyone were fit to have an opinion on women, especially old women—it would have been Nazir.

Hypatia was not sure what to feel about the entire affair. It didn’t help that she knew next to nothing about the Night Mother, or even Sithis. It wasn’t entirely Astrid’s policy to ensure a well-rounded education among the Brotherhood’s members. Hypatia herself did not even know how to read, and there was no one really willing to teach her.

For a brief period, Gabriella was teaching her to knit, however Gabriella quickly became frustrated with Hypatia’s inabilities. For whatever reason, she couldn't grasp the concept. The needles never went where Hypatia wanted, and nothing seemed to hold as firmly as Gabriella expected. Hypatia put in daily effort, but to Gabriella (who rolled her eyes with every one of Hypatia's mistakes), it was simply a matter of _incompetence_. Because of that experience, Hypatia was reluctant to ask Gabriella for reading lessons.

Babette knew how to read, but she insisted there wasn’t enough time for her to give instruction. “Alchemy is busy work. Ask Astrid or Nazir. They are both excellent writers,” she had suggested.

However, Hypatia did not feel comfortable approaching the leader of their Sanctuary. Nazir had offered to teach her, and for a while, things went well—but as with knitting, Hypatia struggled, and Nazir quickly realized it was too much of a commitment. The lessons stopped, and Hypatia never asked to start them again.

Despite her inability to read, things were all right. There was no real need for her to learn—it wasn’t a necessary part of being an assassin. Soon, she took to other hobbies. About the only thing to do in a dank, dark cave was to admire the strange formations that the rocks took on the walls—and so soon enough, she had developed a passion for rocks and other minerals.

It was interesting to her, and she quickly learned Festus Krex (who although refused to teach her to read unless it was to understand spells and magic) had a small interest in expensive gems.

“Girl! Are you paying attention?” he flicked his gaze upwards. Hypatia, in fact, had not been. She was admiring the emerald Festus had passed to her, turning it over in her hands like a prize.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” she smiled weakly.

“Hmph! You ought to pay better attention when I speak. It’s not everyone’s luck to have such a wise, old man willing to pass on his knowledge. Return that gem if you find it’s too difficult to hold and listen at the same time.”

Hypatia cringed and passed the emerald back. “I apologize! Please, continue.”

“As I was saying, back when I was a professor in Winterhold, my students were taught the delicate, but simple art of enchantment. Emeralds, in all manners of their—hey, keep your hands off!”

Hypatia abruptly dropped another one of Festus’ gems. The one which had caught her eye this time was lilac in color. “Sorry,” she said quickly, and Festus gave an impatient huff.

“What is it with you kids and wanting to stick your grimy fingers on everything?” he pinched the edge of his nose.

Hypatia was used to the derogatory way Festus referred to her as a ‘kid’. She wondered where he had come across such beautiful stones. “Would you tell me about the gem. What is it? I’m sure a former professor like you is extremely knowledgeable on the subject…” To her surprise, the flattery seemed to work.

“Yes, of course I am! It’s refreshing to see someone so curious, I guess you’re not entirely stupid after all…”

Though it was meant to be an insult, Hypatia was slightly amused, too curious to be offended. She leaned forward, listening eagerly. “This is called amethyst; it’s a quartz, a precious gem found across Tamriel.”

“I like the color…” she said.

“Hmm… well, since you’ve already dirtied it with your grubby fingers… go ahead and take it.”

Hypatia nearly thought she misheard. “Thank you,” she said and pocketed the gem for herself.

“Yeah, whatever. Come back if you ever want to learn something a little more useful… like destruction magic.”

Since then, Hypatia had discovered a new passion. It wasn’t the most exciting hobby, but it kept her content in a world comprised of waiting and waiting… and waiting for contracts. By the time Cicero had arrived, she owned an extensive collection of stones. Some she’d found while out exploring on her own, some she’d swiped while out on a contract.

One morning in particular, Hypatia was strolling along the path about a mile from Falkreath, examining the ground at a snail’s pace. Occasionally she found designs on rocks in the ground, swirls or small imprints that looked suspiciously similar to fish.

The sun was beginning to rise, it peeked cheerfully through the trees. It was crisp outside and much cleaner than the Sanctuary, whose clammy air often tasted of mold.

As she walked, a small round rock caught her eye on the ground; she leaned over to pick it up. Pressed into the side was a familiar spiraling shape which she often saw engraved in rocks. She happily held onto it. There was a certain wooden box she kept these spiral rocks in.

“Oooh,” exclaimed a cheerful voice. “Have you found something worth keeping?”

Hypatia, who was under the impression she was alone, jumped about six feet in the air. She gasped, instinctively drawing her dagger, and spinning around to see Cicero, the eccentric jester. He was standing there… laughing at her. She was instantly taken aback—this strange man, who had been the center of so many mysteries, was suddenly before her, looking altogether unintimidating.

“Oh! Pardon me, Cicero did not mean to startle you,” he cackled, holding his stomach in a fit of giggles.

It was the first time they’d ever spoke, despite him having been there at least seven days.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she gave an awkward chuckle. “I, uh… I needed to work on my reflexes anyways.” The joke was unfunny to say the least, but Cicero laughed all the same.

“I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted. I am Cicero, heh, the Keeper of the Night Mother,” he bowed slightly, a bit theatrically, and Hypatia gave him an amused frown.

“My name’s Hypatia,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally.”

“Likewise, new friend! So, indulge me! What does Hypatia have in her hand?” he gestured down at the stone in her palm, and Hypatia held it up for him to see.

“Oh, it’s just a rock. I like them,” she said, knowing immediately how lame she sounded.

“Mmmm,” he politely feigned interest, though he seemed confused as to why anyone would have an interest in something so mundane.

“I collect the ones I find with strange patterns,” she explained. Hypatia passed him the stone, and he took it in his gloved hand, turning it over inquisitively.

“Oh! Oooh! I know what this is. It’s a fossil!” he exclaimed, and Hypatia did not understand him. Fossil? Must have been some circus jargon.

“No, it’s a rock. But, there is a strange swirl in it. That’s why I picked it up.”

Cicero eyed her curiously and burst into another fit of giggles. “Oh, you jest!” he laughed, and Hypatia smiled a bit confusingly. “Unless… are you making fun of poor, gullible Cicero?”

“What?” she laughed, the use of third person catching her off-guard. “No, truly, I'm fascinated by rocks.”

Cicero seemed to buy the confusion, and he passed the swirly rock back to her. “Oh, but you see, what you have isn’t an ordinary rock,” he explained. “It’s a fossil, heh? That is, the impression of a small creature, long since dead.”

Hypatia turned the rock over in her hand and raised an eyebrow. She’d never heard of such nonsense. “No, I think it’s just a pattern. Probably because of… well, I couldn’t be sure, maybe the wind?”

Cicero threw his head back and laughed, which Hypatia realized was becoming increasingly more annoying. “No, no, no! Cicero has seen these before! It is a fossil. Look here,” he reached out his hand, and Hypatia handed him the rock. Curiosity had piqued her interest.

“These lines,” he ran his finger along the indention. “It looks like a seashell, hmm?”

“… a what?” Hypatia raised an eyebrow, suspecting this a silly made-up word.

Cicero threw a befuddled glance her way. “This young girl does not know what a seashell is?” She shook her head, laughing a bit nervously. “Are you jesting with gullible Cicero? Or… are you serious?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Hypatia got the impression that the others had fucked with him a bit.

“I’m serious!” she laughed, and Cicero smiled brightly.

“Have you never been up North? To the coast?” he asked.

“Well, I have been to Solitude, but not to the coastline,” she admitted. “Only the city.”

“Hmm. Interesting… I see, I see. Well, Cicero will tell you, along the coast there are a million shells. Tiny shells. Like that of a turtle, but much, much smaller. Very similar to this swirly pattern here,” he twisted the stone to give her a look.

“Just floating in the water?” she asked.

“No! No! Cicero has never seen them float. They wash up onto the shore and get stuck in the sand!”

“That’s so peculiar,” she mumbled. “Like water rocks?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Hmm, Cicero doesn’t know exactly what they are. Just little shells. Sometimes the crabs will hide inside them. Make a home for themselves, hah!”

Hypatia had never heard anything more fascinating. She glared down at the fossil in Cicero’s hand. “So, this… ‘sea shell’, it’s here in my rock?”

“The impression of one!” he said. “Perhaps this area used to be the sea?”

“The sea?”

“A long time ago, perhaps, hmm?” Cicero looked down at her with a curiously amused expression, and Hypatia had the feeling he was messing with her.

He passed the fossil back to her. “You came from Cheydinhal, didn’t you?” Hypatia asked.

Cicero sighed, looking suddenly very disturbed. “Yes… Yes. Cheydinhal. It was my great honor to bring Mother from there to here! We travelled so long, her and I. Cheydinhal was unsafe, so Cicero has brought our Matron to Falkreath. Where he has found Sanctuary for his Mother… and begs he will find… the one.”

“The Listener?” Hypatia asked, remembering what Gabriella had told her. Cicero eyes lit up in joy.

“Oh, what a smart, young, girl you are!” he laughed. “Why, yes. The Listener is the one Cicero has been searching for. It’s been a long search, indeed. Oh, but there is no Listener… Not yet! But, I hope! I pray! I know someday our Lady may come to speak... She will speak. It hasn’t been to me, no. No! But… that’s okay! Our Lady will choose when she is ready, I know it,” he forced a smile.

“Gabriella told me about it. The Listener is the only person the Night Mother speaks to,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes! That’s right. I beg someday soon she will choose. Oh, but I cannot force our Mother. She will talk when she’s ready… She is simply waiting for the right person. It’s certainly not because she is unable! Cicero makes sure of that!”

“Because you care for her?” Hypatia asked curiously. “If—If it’s not disrespectful to ask, what all does that entail?”

“Well, Cicero keeps her body clean… and protected. You see, she is, heh, dead, so she cannot care for herself… Cicero prepares the preservation oils, removes rodents or bugs. He ensures our Mother is happy, and well-looked-after. That is my duty, as Keeper.”

He talked with such a pride in his voice, and Hypatia had the immediate impression he cared deeply about his work.

“So, she’s really a corpse?” Hypatia asked a bit tentatively.

"Oh, yes,” Cicero laughed. “Yes, she is rotting! Dead as can be.”

“So, she can’t even move?” Everything about the Night Mother continually confused her… When the others had spoken of her before, Hypatia pictured something akin to the draugr, or undead skeletons that inhabited old ruins.

“Of course, she cannot move,” he said, flabbergasted.

“How does she speak?” she asked.

“Well, she cannot speak with her lips. No, they are unmoving… They are rotted. No, our Mother, she speaks inside the Listener’s mind, you see. It’s… very intimate. At least, from what I hear,” he sighed a little, but quickly pulled himself together, frowning. “Cicero is very concerned at your lack of knowing these things.”

Hypatia was a bit insulted. How was she supposed to know? Nobody ever explained a thing to her about Dark Brotherhood history or long-dead rituals. “Well, truthfully, I’d never really heard of the Night Mother until you arrived.”

Cicero let out a horrified gasp. “W- WHAT?”

Hypatia did not mean to anger him; she nervously laughed and pulled at her fraying shirt. “I—uh, I was never told. It’s not my fault,” she said.

“Well, you cannot be blamed for the mistakes of your superiors,” he said. “Though, it is very troubling to hear such things. The Night Mother is perhaps the most important part of the Brotherhood.”

“I see…”

“She is the undying spirit of a great woman—the bride of Sithis, himself. Surely you know of Sithis?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sort of,” she smiled weakly. “He is... What? Death itself, right?”

“Well, not exactly… Sithis is the Void. The eternal nothing! He is not even death, for that is something… It is, I admit, a difficult thing to grasp.”

Hypatia stood a bit awkwardly beside him, rocking back and forth apprehensively. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. On the one hand, she had never really considered herself a religious person. She had not joined the Dark Brotherhood for any spiritual reasons—on the contrary, she had joined because Astrid had offered it to her, and Hypatia had few other options at the time. The Dark Brotherhood had presented the opportunity for gold, a family, and safety. It was ‘join or die’, so to speak.

For this reason, while the Night Mother, who was a tangible reality, piqued her curiosity—the idea of Sithis, or conceptually debating his existence, was not entirely appealing. In fact, it made her quite uncomfortable.

Cicero must have sensed this, because he promptly changed the subject when she did not answer.

“So, friend… You mentioned to Cicero a rock collection?”

“Yes, I have a large collection of not just rocks—but gems and other minerals.”

“Ooh, how delightful!” he squealed. “Well, perhaps if Cicero goes back to the coasts, he will return with tiny, swirly seashells! Hypatia can add them to her collection, if she so desires,” he winked cheerfully at her.

The offer took her aback. His kindness was certainly unexpected. “Yes, if you ever find yourself up there… Then, that would be wonderful,” she said. Cicero looked up, giggling, and the sun caught his face in such a way that all his features were highlighted.

He wasn’t particularly attractive, not in the objective sense of the word, yet Hypatia could not help but feel captivated by his appearance. The crinkle in his eye, the joyous smirk on his face, all of it was so genuine. So, unlike anything she’d ever witnessed before.

“Well, heh, Cicero can only speak for so long. Mother needs me, I’m sure,” he politely smiled in her direction, and Hypatia nodded.

“It really was a pleasure to finally speak with you,” she said. His lip twitched, and curved upward into a large, beaming grin.

“Yes, my fossil-friend. I agree!” he clapped his hands suddenly and laughed. “Stay sharp, heh? Cicero bids you farewell.” With a wave of his hand, and a twist of his body, the jester started his trek back up the trail, heading to the Falkreath Sanctuary.

* * *

“Have you spoken with him at all?” Hypatia was leaning over the table, trying to poke herself into the private conversation Babette was having with Gabriella. It was just the three of them in the kitchen, a large cackling fire was flickering away in the corner, and the smell of Babette’s potato stew wavered in the air.

“Unfortunately, I have,” Gabriella drawled, taking a sip of her soup. “His dedication to the Old Ways is inspiring, I’ll give him that… but I cannot stomach that, annoying, eccentric behavior.”

“Really, Gabriella? I’ll admit, I find it a bit charming,” Babette laughed. Hypatia cut in quickly.

“Oh, so do I. He’s just so… curious. I’ve never met anyone like him in the whole of my life,” she said. “He’s strange, but… I don’t know, there’s just something intriguing about him.”

“Intriguing?” Gabriella scoffed. “Maybe if you’re curious how long you can listen to that horrible voice without ripping your own ears from your skull.”

Babette cackled, and Hypatia hushed them both nervously.

“Stop, you two. You’re being incredibly loud. Someone may hear you,” she glanced anxiously towards the stairs and kitchen exit.

“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun,” Babette waved her hand. “It’s nothing we wouldn’t say to his face.”

“Well, whatever. I only mean… It’s disrespectful,” she said, and Gabriella had to nod.

“While, I do think it’s funny… Hypatia makes a point. It’s not entirely respectful to the Night Mother either, to make fun of her Keeper.”

Babette rolled her eyes and broke a bit of bread from her loaf. “Come on now, Gabriella. Since when do you care about respecting the Night Mother?”

“Since I was educated on this Brotherhood’s foundations!” she snapped. “I seem to be the only one here who can admit the truth: this organization has gone to shit. Scrounging for contracts, by word of mouth rumors at best, sneaking around like a bunch of lowlife cutthroats. My grandmother told me tales of this organization in its golden days. A single assassin would bring in more gold than a king collects in taxes! Everyone had comfortable furnishing, instead of leaking ceilings and moldy bread,” Gabriella rolled her eyes. “Of course, that was when the Night Mother was feared and respected for what she was—the Matriarch of the Brotherhood.”

Babette took a bite and laughed. “You seem to forget who was actually there all those years ago,” she said. “It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be back then either. You think we were living like kings? Rolling around in piles of gold? Far from it,” Babette scowled. “In fact, we followed the Night Mother faithfully, and yet look where it got us.”

Hypatia blinked, looking between the vampire and the dark elf, who each scowled resentfully in the others direction.

“All I’m saying, is that it wouldn’t hurt this family to bring back a little tradition. What we’ve got now is pathetic. We were once feared. People spoke our name in hushed whispers, afraid to be too loud, lest we come for them in the middle of the night… Now this Brotherhood is a joke. I realize it, Cicero realizes it, even Festus seems to understand this,” she muttered. “The Night Mother may well be the first step to renewed glory.”

Babette paused for a moment and considered what the dark elf was saying. “You may have a point, but Astrid is my matron, now. Perhaps, there was a time that I was inclined to believe you… However, I have seen the history most of you forgot. I serve what is tangible, and until Astrid proves me wrong, she is the rightful leader.”

Gabriella scoffed, but said nothing. Hypatia herself, felt a bit awkward to be in the middle of this unexpected debate. Truthfully, she did not know what the right thing to do was. It was undeniable that Cicero would bring something _new_ to the Sanctuary. Perhaps, something the Sanctuary had been lacking. However, not all change was good. Some things are better left as they are. No matter the outcome, Hypatia would remain the same dutiful assassin she’d always been, keeping her head down and doing her job silently So, far she’d been lucky enough to avoid the Sanctuary politics. She didn’t envy anyone opinionated enough to delve in. She was good at taking orders, and she left most decision-making to her older, more experienced colleagues. Perhaps it was time to grow up a bit, but Hypatia couldn't shake her amateurish feeling. Was now the time to be asking philosophical questions about tradition and progress?

No, if she was going to ask any questions, it would be about something more tangible and less consequential. Something that captivated her. Such as, how exactly Cicero knew what a fossil was… and what it felt like to hold a seashell in the palm of your hand.


End file.
